Help!
by KET
Summary: Another HG/SS story - *** COMPLETE ***
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

Disclaimer: all the main characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm merely borrowing them. Without JK Rowling's wonderful imagination none of this would be possible. I'm not writing this for commercial purposes and I will make no money from it.  
  
A/N: This is another Snape/Hermione story. If you don't like that pairing, please don't ready it. The story is rated R for discussion of adult themes like rape. Also bereavement (don't worry - I'm not going to kill off Hermione or Snape!) Put like that it sounds awfully depressing, but isn't really that bad.  
  
Also - this is now rather well trodden ground in fanfiction circles and it is beginning to get difficult to write stories that aren't derivative of something written by someone. So I hope that other authors won't object too much if certain story lines have been written before. I do have a particular idea I want to explore, which I don't think has been dealt with before - at least not in quite this way. This will become apparent once you get a few chapters into the story.  
  
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)  
  
When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way, but now these days are gone I'm not so self assured, now I find I've changed my mind I've opened up the doors. Help me if you can, I'm feeling down, and I do appreciate you being around help me get my feet back on the ground, won't you please please help me?  
  
Chapter 1: Prologue  
  
Hermione often thought that she had her most inspired thoughts in her dreams. Sometimes she would wake up with whole stories in her head. If she ever wrote a novel it would be based on one of those stories. Perhaps one day she would do just that, but at the moment she was far too busy studying for her NEWTS.  
  
It was perhaps because her dreams were usually so damn GOOD that this one came as such a surprise. She woke dripping with sweat in the middle of the night and sat up in a fright. Gradually the realisation dawned on her that the dampness wasn't just sweat - she had had a WET dream. Oh Gods, but it had felt so good, so much better than any real sexual experience she had ever had. But, but . the man in the dream had been . Snape. At that point she nearly gagged. Not Snape! Not the hated Potions Master. But yes - it really had been him. And his eyes had burned with desire instead of that dead hatred that usually filled them.  
  
Hermione shook her head. Clearly she had been studying too hard or something. She must be going mad. A glass of water helped clear her head, but as she slipped off back to sleep Snape seemed to creep back in.  
  
****  
  
That morning, Snape had a headache. He had a headache nearly all the time now. Sometimes he wondered whether he had a brain tumour. But, no, that would be too easy. No such luck for him. He was doomed to stay hale and hearty enough to carry on this spying that would no doubt lead to a very protracted and painful death in due course. He sighed. Another cup of coffee, then, and he would have to face the day. It was Friday, so the first lesson would be double Potions with the Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh years. Oh joy! The famous Harry Potter and acolytes. Coffee dispatched, he rose and descended to the dungeons. If they thought he usually had a bad temper, they had another thing coming today.  
  
The lesson started quietly enough. Snape set them their task and they got on with it. They were seventh years after all and within a month of their NEWTs. If they didn't know how to get on with it now, they never would. He would mark some third year essays, he decided.  
  
A slight disturbance made him look up. The Granger girl was glaring a Draco who had obviously done something to one of her darling Gryffindors, probably Longbottom, who deserved it more than most. My she looks beautiful when she is angry - the thought came unbidden into his head. A wave of desire washed over him. Snape was horrified. He couldn't remember ever having felt desire for a pupil before. He was well aware that it was entirely inappropriate - not to mention entirely futile. My God, it's too long since I had a woman, he thought. Perhaps he should go down to Knockturn Alley this weekend. He could do that - there was nothing to stop him. His money was as good as anyone else's, wasn't it? Snape shifted uneasily in his chair.  
  
A sudden bang brought his attention back to the classroom. Someone's cauldron had exploded. 'Whoever's cauldron that was can kiss your evening goodbye - detention at 8 o'clock', he hissed. Then he saw a slow smile spread across Draco's face as he and the other Slytherin's pointed at a very red looking Hermione. Snape was only too well aware that the exploding cauldron had most probably been the result of some Slytherin sabotage, but he could hardly retract his words now. And with grim determination he kept his mind on whores in Knockturn Alley to avoid noticing how beautiful the Granger girl looked when she was embarrassed as well as angry.  
  
***  
  
When she'd woken up that morning, Hermione had immediately remembered her dream. She had wondered what would happen when she actually met Snape in the flesh. Would the desire intensify or would it evaporate with one sight of his greasy hair and sneering mouth. He wasn't at breakfast, so she didn't get a chance to find out until the first lesson. She was deeply disturbed to discover that the desire didn't simply flee in the face of reality, as she had rather hoped it would. During the lesson, she couldn't help watching him as he bent his head over all that marking he was doing. Perhaps she was unwittingly emitting a surfeit of pheromones causing Snape's reaction to her. In any case, the vision of Snape distracted her attention and contributed in no small measure to the her missing the Slytherin hand that surreptitiously dropped 15 fig leaves in her potion, causing the subsequent fireworks. She thought briefly about arguing with Snape when he handed out the detention, but she didn't know who it was who had done it. And even if she had known, she disliked snitching. So she swallowed her pride and prepared for detention.  
  
*** The day went from bad to worse. When Snape got to his last lesson of the afternoon, he was actually forced to evacuate the classroom and carry a first year Hufflepuff to the infirmary after a particularly nasty escape of fumes, occasioned by the idiocy of the students, as usual. As a result, he actually managed to forget all about the detention he had handed out that morning. Come 8 o'clock, he was seated at his desk reading a Potions journal. Then he heard a strange double knock on the door - as if someone had knocked once with the knuckles of one hand and then immediately with the knuckles of the other hand. This was, in fact, a special little knock that Hermione had perfected specifically to annoy people and which she always used almost without thinking about it.  
  
Even the knock on the door didn't jog Snape's memory and it wasn't until Hermione walked in that he suddenly remembered - with a vengeance. Oh, damn, he didn't have any suitable task ready - he would have to think on his feet, all while his blood was rapidly deserting his brain.  
  
Snape looked desperately around the classroom in search of inspiration. Then his eyes fell on a note from Poppy Pomfrey. Aha, that would do the trick. 'You will brew a batch of Skele-grow potion for Madam Pomfrey', he said. Hermione let out a sigh of relief and he realised he had been too lenient. A nasty smile spread across his face. 'Using fresh slugs which you will first collect from the grounds. Without a wand.' At that moment a gust of wind blew a sheet of rain against the window. Hermione looked as if she was about to say something, but clamped her mouth firmly shut. Snape held out his hand. 'Your wand, please.' It was a totally unreasonable request, but she had no option but to hand it over.  
  
Hermione stood for a moment contemplating the rain outside. Then her mind got back into gear. Skele-grow - think! What do I need? And she started planning the brewing process carefully in her mind. 'May I start the base potion, first?' she asked. 'It needs to brew for quite a while and I can collect the snails while it is simmering.' 'And what if it boils over while you're out?' asked Snape. 'I thought perhaps .' She was going to ask him to keep an eye on it but realised that was useless. She sighed and continued, 'I'll adjust the flame very carefully'. 'I'll let you know if it boiled over, so you can start afresh,' said Snape nastily. Nevertheless, he was impressed. She was thinking clearly and methodically under considerable strain and pressure. He watched as she went over to the bookcase in the corner and pulled out a standard reference work to check the quantities and with a deft hand prepared the ingredients. She would certainly make a good Potions Mistress. And by God was she beautiful when she was working. You fool! Keep your mind on the journal. Or on your trip to Knockturn Alley. Have you taken leave of your senses?  
  
Hermione finished the base potion, selected a cauldron to hold the slugs and left the classroom. She was well aware that the potion was much more powerful if prepared with fresh slugs. But to make her collect them in the pouring rain without a wand? She hadn't brought a coat since she hadn't anticipated going outside. She thought about going up to her rooms to fetch one, but the Gryffindor tower was a long way away and this was going to take all night as it was. So she decided to brave the rain. It was late May and not very cold, but very, very wet.  
  
Half an hour later, she returned with the cauldron full of slugs, but herself soaked to the bone. Snape was not in the classroom, so she simply set about preparing the slugs. When he returned a few minutes later from the store room, he had a shock. The wet had made her blouse clingy and see- through. In a moment, all his desire welled up in him again. Desperate, he sought to cover his discomfort with anger. 'Why haven't you performed a drying spell?' he hissed. 'The rain water will drip in the potion and ruin it!' She simply stared at him and said, 'You have my wand, sir.'  
  
It was true, of course. He did have her wand - he had forgotten. Damn! Not taking his eyes off her, he reached into the drawer and pulled out the wand. Her eyes were locked with his in some kind of power struggle as she reached out for the wand, waved it and pronounced the drying spell. But instead of a gentle waft of hot air, the wand seemed to cough and let out a cloud of dark smoke. They both stared at it for a second. The Hermione said, 'This is not my wand' and Snape snatched it back. Triple damn! In his lack of concentration he had given her his own wand. He scowled and hastily gave her the right wand.  
  
Hermione retreated to her cauldron, pretending to give it 100% of her attention. But in the meanwhile her mind raced. A cloud of black smoke? How had that happened. It was never a good idea to use someone else's wand, but it didn't usually have that effect. She had never seen this before, but she had read about it (of course). When a wand was too deeply steeped in dark magic it sometimes began to regurgitate dark spells at will. Suddenly she was frightened. What was Snape up to? She knew he was spying for Dumbledore, of course. She had been there in the hospital wing on that evening of the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, when Snape had shown his dark mark and had gone off at Dumbledore's request, but she had never really considered what that might mean. Now her mind filled with possibilities, each worse than the one before and every one dangerous.  
  
Snape was furious with himself. How much did she know? How much had she guessed? Would she tell anyone? He didn't want to ask her to keep it secret - that would only draw her attention to the incident if she hadn't realised its significance. He had to get rid of her out of his dungeon. The potion seemed to have reached the final stage where it just needed to simmer for another hour. 'That's enough, Miss Granger. I will bottle the potion. You may go!' Hermione knew better than to argue with a Snape who was releasing her early from detention and almost ran from the room. Despite his worry over the wand incident, Snape smiled to himself as he checked the cauldron. Good girl - a perfect potion! Perhaps she didn't know what the black cloud meant. And tomorrow he could go to Knockturn Alley and drive her lithe, young body out of his mind. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.  
  
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)  
  
Chapter 2  
  
In fact, Snape didn't go to Knockturn Alley the day after, or for many weeks after that. For at three o'clock that morning, his Dark Mark began to throb once again. He grabbed his Death Eater robes and ran towards the edge of the Hogwarts' ground with a feeling of heavy foreboding. The meeting turned out to be one of the worst yet. Voldemort, now strong and bloodthirsty, decided to indulge in a few games with captured wizards and muggles, which sickened Snape to the core. And if that wasn't enough, Malfoy sidled up and issued a veiled and sinister threat. 'You know I don't trust your conversion, but now I have the perfect weapon to use against you - your own flesh and blood!' Since Snape had no living relatives nearer than second cousins, he had no idea what this was meant to imply, but he also had no doubt that Malfoy had something very unpleasant in mind.  
  
However, the meeting proved fruitful for the Cause, because Voldemort let slip some of his intentions, which enabled Dumbledore to put a plan of action into practice. Some weeks later, Harry Potter entered the Forbidden Forest as bait with the aurors close behind. Not close enough as it turned out, for Harry was forced to fight the final battle on his own. But, as predicted by many omens and seers (even Professor Trelawney), Harry won the day. And the assembled Hogwarts' faculty, aurors and Harry's friends arrived in the clearing to find Harry bending over the dead body of Voldemort in an echo of his adventure with the unicorns in his first year.  
  
The battle having been won, Harry and his friends, who had missed their exams were awarded their NEWTs on the basis of the last year's course work (Hermione getting A++ in every subject), and went off to university. Harry Potter settled for escaping his fame in Britain by taking up a quidditch scholarship at an American university.  
  
Snape retired back into obscurity and when term started again, he was still there at Hogwarts teaching the same old syllabus to students as idiotic as ever. True, there was no Longbottom and no Potter/Weasley/Granger trio to annoy him, but his mood did not lighten appreciably.  
  
Dumbledore watched Snape with concern. Finally, at about Easter time, he decided to make his move. He invited Snape up to his office. Snape approached cautiously - he had no doubt that the invitation was a prelude to something unpleasant and he was soon proved right. Dumbledore popped a cream scone in his mouth and said, 'Severus, my dear friend, have you considered making a career move at all?' 'What career move? Who would have me?' 'Oh, don't be so negative. Your research is very well regarded and you have published widely. Any university department would be keen to have you.' 'But would I be keen to have them?' 'I don't know but I think you should give it a try. A fresh start. Turn over a new leaf. I'm not expecting you to take any irrevocable decisions straight away. I'd simply offering you a year's sabbatical from here to try something else. If it doesn't work out you can always come back.' 'Try what?' said Snape rather rudely, even to his own ears. 'Well, I've spoken with Professor Mordon at Magical College, Oxford. They would be glad to have you as a visiting fellow for a year.' 'Magical College, Oxford .' Despite himself, Snape was flattered. It was his own college and one of the very best. 'That's settled then. You can start in the Michaelmas term. That will give me plenty of time to find a temporary replacement here. And - oh - you will promise to try your best not to rub too many people up the wrong way, won't you.'  
  
***  
  
Snape wasn't afterwards quite clear what he'd said that had implied agreement, but once Dumbledore had got an idea in his mind, he was unstoppable. So the next September found Snape in his new rooms in Magical College, unpacking books.  
  
He was just filling the last shelf when there was a knock at the door. 'Come in,' he shouted and a tall wizard don entered. 'My name is Pevensey. I'm the head of the Potions Department. You must be Professor Snape. You come with very high recommendations from my old friend Dumbledore,' he said - rather nervously, Snape thought. Snape remembered teaching a Hufflepuff called Pevensey some years previously and thought it might be this man's son or nephew. Obviously his reputation had gone before him. Or, if the man had a long enough memory, he would recall the first round of Death Eater trials. Snape sighed inwardly. A fresh start, Dumbledore had said, but there was clearly no such thing. However, he had promised Albus he would try his best, so try he would.  
  
'I'm Snape,' he said in what for him was a very civil tone. Pevensey blinked but was clearly determined not to be put off. 'How are you settling in? Rooms fine? Everything all right? I see you have your house elf with you.' Piggy had just darted across the room. 'Anything you want to ask?' Pevensey was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable under the man's stare and was greatly relieved that they hadn't assigned him any students for pastoral care. 'Yes, there is something I wanted to ask, as a matter of fact. I know that I am to lecture the first and third years. I've already prepared the first term's lectures. But I see from the scroll you sent that I am to take tutorials for the second year students. What does that involve?' 'Ah yes,' said Pevensey. 'The second years, in addition to their normal course, do an assessed research project. We are each responsible for about four of them. They'll come and see you about once a fortnight to report on their progress. At the end of the year, the projects are assessed by an examining panel. If you tell your secretary, Mrs Snigglewort, what times you have set aside for tutorials, she'll make sure they make appointments. It isn't usually too onerous a task. We've given you some students that should be able work fairly independently. '  
  
Snape detected a certain evasiveness in what Pevensey was saying, but was unsure why the man would be lying. 'Here is a list of your tutees', said Pevensey more uncomfortable than ever. Snape reached out to take the scroll and studied the names. Three of them were unknown to him and the third was . Hermione Granger. 'I know Miss Granger - I taught her at Hogwarts - but I have never heard of the others, ' he said slowly. 'Yes, well, the others are Americans as a matter of fact. Very bright. Certain to turn in very good projects without any - ahhr - help.' Snape was beginning to guess at the reason for the man's embarrassment. 'And Miss Granger?' he prompted. 'Ehr, well, her idea for a project falls squarely within your area of expertise, so we thought .' He petered out. Snape had guessed it now - they had tried to give him students whom he had never heard of and who had never heard of him, because they suspected that no one who had been to Hogwarts would accept him as a tutor. But Miss Granger had unwittingly chosen a topic that was so clearly 'his' that they couldn't assign her to anyone else, without it looking like an insult. 'Oh course, if you'd rather not tutor someone you know .' began Pevensey. 'No, no, that's fine,' said Snape. 'Of course, the students can also ask to change tutors.' 'Oh.' Snape decided that Miss Granger would be certain ask to change tutors as soon as she heard that she had been assigned to him. For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, this made him feel unaccountably disappointed.  
  
***  
  
Snape told Mrs Snigglewort that he would hold tutorials between 6 and 7pm. That would give him something to do between the end of lectures and before he could decently break out the whisky, he thought. (He wasn't sure why breaking out the whisky had recently become such an important part of his day). Also it was a sufficiently awkward time to discourage the tutees as far as possible.  
  
So sure had he been that Miss Granger would ask for another tutor, that he was extremely surprised to find her name down for the 6-7pm slot on the first Friday of term. After a few moments thought, he decided that she must have thought it necessary to come and tell him in person why she was changing tutors. That would be the Gryffindor thing to do! And so he had not prepared anything for her project when he heard that strange double knock on his door at 6pm precisely. It was only with great difficulty that he managed to hide his astonishment when she presented him with the plans for her project.  
  
Hermione had, of course, prepared the plan thoroughly. Snape recognised immediately that her ideas were interesting. Challenging, yet achievable by a second year student. And she had already done a great deal of background reading. He covered his confusion by adopting his normal gruff manner, but she clearly saw nothing unusual in that. Having already seen two of the other tutees, he was able to improvise a plan for reporting to him that sounded as if it had been well thought through, and Hermione went away satisfied.  
  
And so it was that Hermione went to see Snape once a fortnight to discuss the project, and Snape, despite himself, became more and more interested in her work, not to mention more and more interested in her. In truth, he looked forward to their meetings. If it had been any other student, he would have been satisfied with the work she had already done on the project by Christmas, but he managed to spin it out until halfway through the Lent term. Finally, even Snape ran out of ideas for further research in the area and had to admit this. He gave her no explicit praise, but he did say, honestly, that the project was innovative enough to form the basis for a published article. Rather timidly, Hermione asked him if he would comment on a draft, if she rewrote it for publication. And so their meetings continued, albeit less frequently, until she had a highly polished paper to send off to the British Journal of Potions as soon as the project had been assessed.  
  
***  
  
The exam papers had all been marked. All the examination boards were finished. The assessed projects had all been handed in. It was the end of term. Outside in the quadrangle, the students were celebrating noisily. Snape stood in his room looking at his books and the few other belongings he had brought. Time to pack! He wasn't sure where he would be going in the autumn. The year had gone rather well, he thought. The lectures required no actual interaction with students and had been the easiest part. He'd held his tongue in staff meetings and had not fallen out with any of the faculty. His research had been going well. And the tutorials - well, they had all turned in projects anyway. He realised Dumbledore was right - he could leave Hogwarts for a university post if he wanted to.  
  
Snape had no real doubt that Albus was trying to winkle him out of Hogwarts, whether for Snape's own good or because he had finally got fed up with his teaching style, or a combination of both. But short of actually sacking him, Snape couldn't see how it could be done against his will, and he didn't think Albus would sack him. And it was Snape's instinct to scuttle back to the safety and obscurity of Hogwarts. He didn't think he had the optimism and self-confidence for fresh starts. He was deep in such thoughts when that strange double knock came at his door. Miss Granger! What was she doing here? Slightly reluctantly he let her in.  
  
Hermione was ready for the end of term ball. With an unusual rush of vanity, she had spent all afternoon getting ready, doing her hair, applying makeup and adjusting the stunning ball gown she had bought on a whim. Then, just as she was leaving she suddenly remembered that she wanted to retrieve the duplicate copy of her project from Snape. As she explained her errand, she became embarrassingly aware that Snape was looking at her with amazement. Hermione, who had by no means forgotten her seventh year dream, smiled inwardly and pulled herself up to her full height. 'Ehhr, Miss Granger, you will be late for your escort if you do not hurry', said Snape awkwardly, while fervently wishing she wouldn't go anywhere at all. Hermione deflated slightly. 'I haven't got an escort. No one asked me, but I decided that I would go on my own', she said ending on a defiant note. 'Who are you going with, sir?' she added, staring straight at an invite propped on Snape's mantelpiece. 'I'm not going', said Snape while simultaneously turning to follow her line of vision. It was the first time he had seen the invite. Mrs Snigglewort, damn the woman. She mothered him worse than Piggy! 'Why .', began Hermione. 'I'm not going', said Snape with finality. 'Please accompany me', begged Hermione, astonished at her own courage. 'I said I was going on my own, but I wasn't really looking forward to it .'  
  
Snape looked at the beautiful woman before him and felt his resolve weaken. 'I haven't got the right clothes', he said doubtfully. 'All you need is a set of dress robes. I'm sure you've got that!' 'Well, yes, but .' He had suddenly run out of excuses. 'Just don't expect me to dance', he grunted. It took Hermione a moment to realise she had won, and then she clapped her hands with delight.  
  
***  
  
Snape needn't have worried about having to dance with Hermione. As soon as she walked into the ball, she was surrounded by young men who wanted nothing more than to dance with this beautiful woman. Snape stood in a corner, drank too much and wondered how she could bear to dance with them when they had previously ignored her and omitted to ask her to come to the ball with them. If he had had more experience in such matters he would have recognised that he was jealous. And so, when several hours later, Hermione approached him to ask if he wouldn't dance even just the once, he grabbed her rather savagely and led her onto the dance floor.  
  
She had picked a waltz - traditional enough that Snape ought to recognise it while easy enough for her to follow without having been taught ballroom dancing. And to her delight she discovered that Snape was rather a good dancer. She moved closer to him, while trying desperately not to tread on his toes. He held her tightly, unaware just how close he was pulling her, suddenly aware of a desperate desire for her. Suddenly, she missed the rhythm slightly and fell against him. They both became simultaneously aware that her hip was grinding against his groin and that there could be no doubt of his erection. Startled Hermione looked up into his eyes and smiled.  
  
Snape panicked. In one movement he let go of her and stalked out of the room without a single glance back. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.  
  
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)  
  
Chapter 3  
  
He had done the right thing - of that he was quite sure. Walking out on her was the only possible course of action. If he had continued - no, that way lay madness. But he could not understand why he felt so bereft. Solitude was a way of life for him. He couldn't possible discover, aged 42, that he was lonely of all things. It was ridiculous! He was Snape - feared and despised by all. That was the life he had chosen because it would prevent him from corrupting and tainting anyone else. He had made his bed and now he must lie in it - alone. Regret would be futile. Snape gritted his teeth and started to pack for his departure tomorrow.  
  
***  
  
Hermione stood for a moment looking after Snape as he left. It had been strange, dancing with him. Ever since that dream two years ago, her mind had been plagued by erotic fantasies featuring him. They had abated a bit during her first year at university when he wasn't there, to surface only at the dead at night. But now this last year, they had grown stronger with his presence. With the real Snape, she had shared some of the most interesting and fruitful tutorials of her university life so far. She had flirted gently with him, even though he probably hadn't noticed it. And he had been almost civil, polite, as if he was trying very hard to live down his reputation. In return, she had done four times as much work on the project as she had really intended. Not that she really minded - it was interesting. He had never praised her directly, but the suggestion she might publish it was as valuable as the most florid praise.  
  
What now? The meeting in Snape's room and the dance had turned her on so that she almost couldn't stand. She was slightly drunk, but she was sure that this was not a factor, except to the extent that it was loosening her inhibitions. To go back to her rooms alone was unthinkable, an anti-climax beyond belief. She considered briefly chatting up one of the other students who would no doubt queue up to offer her coffee or to show her their etchings. But the disappointment at not being asked to the ball by anyone rankled. And it was Snape she really wanted. There was only one decision she could really make.  
  
***  
  
He recognised her strange double-handed knock on his door. For a moment he considered ignoring it, pretending he wasn't there, but then he remembered how persistent she could be. Most probably she'd make a scene in the corridor. So he walked over to the fireplace, turned his face away from the door and said, 'Come in'. Despite his best efforts not to look at her, he caught sight of her in the mirror above the mantelpiece. The makeup was perhaps not as immaculate as it had been a few hours earlier, and some strands of her unruly hair had escaped from their allotted positions, but she was still a vision of loveliness. Snape felt his resolve weakening.  
  
'Why did you walk out?' she asked in a low voice, though she knew the answer really. 'Don't pretend you don't want me - I know you do.' Snape muttered something that contained the words 'teacher', 'student' and 'inappropriate'. Hermione considered this argument for a moment. 'Not any more,' she said. 'The exams and projects are marked. The grades have been assigned. Next year, I'll still be here, but you'll be gone.' He turned then, unable to refrain from gazing at her, and found himself wondering whether his long fingers would reach around her slim waist.  
  
Hermione took as step towards Snape. When he didn't move she took another and then another, until she was close enough to touch him. His eyes seemed to drink her in but he stood perfectly motionless. Slowly, she raised herself on tiptoes and stretched her mouth towards his. Still, he didn't move. So she simply took the initiative and kissed him. For a moment she thought he would not respond, but finally the dam of emotion burst and he put his arms around her and kissed her back. And discovered that his fingers did indeed reach round her waist. 'Make love to me,' she whispered. His eyes widened with surprise, but he made no objection and swept her up in his arms and carried her towards the bedroom.  
  
Snape had always regarded sex as a zero-sum game - each partner trying to take as much pleasure as they could at expense of the other. For the first time in his life, he discovered that night how marvellous it could feel to give pleasure. A feeling so intoxicating that it made him feel drunk and he was sure he could become addicted to it.  
  
***  
  
At what point does a one-night stand transmute into a tentative relationship?  
  
Perhaps it is when one partner wakes up in the night and finds the other still there. Snape woke three times and each time he reached out in panic to check that Hermione was still there - fearful that she had either come to her senses and left, or that she had never been anything other than a figment of his imagination. But each time she was there, fast asleep.  
  
Or perhaps it's when one partner wakes in the morning and the overwhelming emotion at seeing last night's date is not disgust or embarrassment, but delight and desire. When Hermione woke at 6 o'clock, Snape had finally fallen into a deep sleep. She watched his relaxed and unguarded face for a long time. He looked younger without the scowl. She did some sums in her head. Snape had been in the same year as Harry's parents. As far as she and Harry had been able to piece it together, James and Lily had left school and got married within three years, Harry being born about a year after that. That would make Snape about 22 years older than her. She was now 20, so he must be about 42. When awake, he looked older, but asleep, with his hair tousled and his face vulnerable, he looked like a little boy. Still, she was amazed that she had fallen for an older man. Admittedly, she thought boys her own age immature and silly, but she had always imagined finding a nice postgrad or young lecturer in his late twenties or early thirties.  
  
Or perhaps it is when the two people start making tentative plans for what to do once they get out of bed. By eleven that morning, Snape and Hermione had made love again. Twice. And sent a house elf to fetch them breakfast in bed. But now the time had clearly come to get up. 'I need to pack,' said Hermione. 'I have to leave my rooms today.' 'Me, too,' said Snape. He hesitated a moment over his next question, frightened that he might be pushing the boat out too far. 'What are you planning on doing over the summer, Hermione?' Hermione also hesitated for a moment - not because she wasn't sure whether to answer him, but because she genuinely wasn't sure what she was doing over the holidays. She didn't have enough money to travel, having spent her time studying rather than taking a part-time job. There was some research she wanted to do - she was already thinking ahead to starting a PhD in a year's time and she had an idea which she wanted to work up a bit. But that would again preclude her from earning any money, so she would have to fall back on the one place where she could stay for free. 'I was thinking of going home to my parents,' she said finally. 'They only live down the road in Reading and it will be easy for me to apparate back to Oxford, to use the library and lab here.' 'Would you consider coming to my house for a little while?' asked Snape, desperate to ask the question, but fearful of what the answer might be. The words 'a little while' helpfully covered a multitude of possibilities - a few minutes for a cup of tea, a few days, a few weeks, the rest of the summer holidays. Hermione smiled at him. 'That would be very nice,' she said and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.  
  
***  
  
And so, Sunday morning two weeks later found them sitting at the breakfast table, fussed over by Piggy, Snape's house elf. She had already plied them with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, fried tomatoes and toast, and now she was trying to get them to have another cup of tea. Hermione submitted to this with quiet humour, but Snape, who suspected that Piggy was simply curious about this the first female he had ever brought home, snapped at her with mock anger. To block out the argument, Hermione immersed herself in the muggle Sunday newspapers she had insisted on getting delivered.  
  
Snape contemplated her silently. After two weeks, he still had no idea how she regarded their relationship. During the day, she was working on some sort of research project and had been delighted to discover his library and potions lab. During the nights, she made passionate love to him, with an enthusiasm that bordered on desperation. But she had not commented on the situation, and he couldn't raise the courage to ask her for fear of what the answer might be. He thought she was scratching an itch. Yes, that had to be it. She had not been a virgin, but he suspected she had not had a lot of sex. She was simply frustrated and she was working the frustration out on him. In a day, or a week, or a month, the itch would pass and then she would leave. He felt a strange contraction round his heart at the thought. But he had no right to expect any better. Enjoy it while it lasts, he thought grimly.  
  
To take his mind off his depressing line of thought, he picked up one of the muggle papers and started to flick through it. And then he froze. He sat motionless for a full minute. Then he stood up and walked quietly out the room, out of the house and disapparated without a word to anyone. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.  
  
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)  
  
Chapter 4  
  
It took Hermione a full half hour to realise that Snape had disappeared. She noticed that he had got up from the table, but assumed he had gone to the bathroom or to get something. Eventually, when he didn't return, she went to make sure that he was alright. Even when she couldn't find him, she thought at first he had simply gone for a walk. But when he hadn't returned by lunchtime, she was getting frantic. Interrogation of Piggy revealed nothing useful, except that the Master had left and she could see that for herself.  
  
The next few days and nights were the worst in Hermione's life so far. She stayed on in the house, assuming that he would come back. And she wracked her brain for possible explanations for his behaviour, but could find none.  
  
Finally, on the Wednesday morning, she broke. She composed a note to Professor Dumbledore, explaining as succinctly as possible that Snape had disappeared without commenting on why she had any knowledge of his movements in the first place. She owled it and hoped Snape's owl was a quick one. It must have been, because only an hour later, the fire crackled and Dumbledore's disembodied head appeared in the fire. He was wearing a worried expression. 'Hermione, are you there?' he asked. She stepped up in front of the fire so that he could see her. He nodded and said, 'Stand back, I'm coming through.' And a few moments later, he was standing there in front of her. 'How did you know I was here?' she asked feeling as if she had been rumbled. Dumbledore smiled. 'I recognised Snape's owl. You had some knowledge of his movement. It seemed the obvious deduction.'  
  
Hermione felt her face go rather red and she said lamely, 'I have been using his library and lab to do some research.' Dumbledore nodded kindly. 'No doubt. No doubt, ' he replied. Then he said, 'Is there any possibility that you might have - ah - said something that upset or insulted him?' Hermione stared at him and the realised that he was asking very delicately whether they had had a lovers' tiff. She shook her head violently. 'No, no, nothing like that. We were talking, he was arguing a bit with his house elf, then he was reading, and then he simply got up and walked out without a word to me or the elf.' Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'What was he reading?' he asked at last. Hermione thought back and said 'The muggle Sunday papers,' and suddenly flushed even more at the implication of an intimate Sunday breakfast. Dumbledore, however, appeared totally unshockable. He simply asked which paper Snape had been reading. Hermione thought long and hard but couldn't remember.  
  
'Piggy,' called Dumbledore and Piggy appeared through the wall. 'Do you still have the Sunday papers or have you disposed of them?' 'Yes, sir Dumbledore. Yes, yes. Still have them. The man from the council - he gives us this green box. Black lid. I puts all the papers in the box. Council takes them away on a Friday and makes heat and power out of them. Yes, yes,' she said, nodding vigorously. Hermione smiled at the thought of the house elf dealing with muggle paper recycling schemes. 'Would you bring us last Sunday's papers, please,' said Dumbledore patiently. Piggy disappeared for a moment and reappeared with an armful of papers which she put on the table. Dumbledore looked through them. 'Hm. I read the muggle Sunday papers myself sometimes, but I didn't read them last Sunday. Now let's see. The Observer. The Sunday Times. The News of the World?' Piggy suddenly went bright red and Dumbledore and Hermione had to lunge to grab her before she banged her head against the wall. 'Whatever is the matter?' asked Hermione. Piggy sobbed uncontrollable and it took several minutes to calm her down sufficiently to get a sensible word out of her. Finally she explained, 'Master. Miss. They don't order News of the World. I's like it. I's got it for me. I's didn't think Master would mind.' 'I'm sure he won't,' said Hermione reassuringly, smiling inwardly at the image of the house elf reading a weekly diet of scandals and sensationalism. 'Is it possible that the News of the World was on the table last Sunday?' asked Dumbledore. He and Hermione then had to grab Piggy again before she started to bang her head again. Finally she admitted that the News of the World might have been among the papers on the breakfast table last Sunday. 'Hm,' said Dumbledore. 'If you don't know what Severus was reading, we'd better look through all these papers.' He grabbed the top half of the pile and gave the rest to Hermione.  
  
Hermione read carefully the same stories she had read last Sunday. Arguments about the wisdom of joining the Euro. The future of London underground. A plane crash. The weather. The recent crime wave. None of it seemed remotely relevant to Snape. Dumbledore seemed to have a similar lack of success. The suddenly he whistled softly. Hermione looked up to see him fold up the News of the World. 'I think, my dear, this is something I have to deal with,' he said enigmatically. And stood up. And disapparated without another word.  
  
Hermione simply sat and stared after him. He was the second man to have walked out on her in four days over the same newspaper story and she still didn't know what it was all about. 'Well, of all the .' she began, but she was simply beyond words.  
  
***  
  
After the first shock of Dumbledore's disappearance had worn off, Hermione started to think logically again. Whatever it was, it was something to do with a story in that News of the World rag, that wasn't obvious from the more high-brow papers. And since Dumbledore had taken the paper with him, she would have to get hold of another copy. And she knew just where she'd find one.  
  
A few moments later, she apparated into the alleyway next to her parents' house. It was mid morning on a Wednesday and she expected them to be safely away at their dentist surgery, so she simply used her key to enter without ringing the bell. It was a close call whether she or her father were more startled when they came face to face. 'Dad, what are you doing at home?' she asked and then took in his pale and gaunt face. He put his hand on her arm and led her over to the sofa. She sat down next to him. And then finally he spoke. 'Hermione, I'm glad you've come home. I wanted to talk to you, but it is not the sort of thing you can discuss over the 'phone or through that ..' He nodded with distrust at the fire place. 'Dad, what's happened?' 'Hermione, I simply don't know how to say this so that it doesn't hurt you, but I'm not well.' 'What do you mean - not well?' 'Well, we don't really know. I've been for more tests today. But it is not good.' 'What do you mean - not good?' 'Hermione, I'm a dentist. I'm a medically trained man. The doctors can't hoodwink me.' 'What's the matter with you?' 'We won't know until we have the test results, but I'm very afraid it's serious.' 'But what's wrong?' Instead of answering straight, he began to describe what had happened. 'I've been feeling unwell for several months. But it was all so vague. No real symptoms. Tiredness. Some vague pain in the stomach. But it all got much worse a few weeks back and your mother finally persuaded me to go to the doctor. It's not good news, I'm afraid.' 'But what's wrong,' said Hermione again. 'They are finding abnormalities in the liver.' 'What does that mean?' 'Well, it could be all sorts of things. It could be cirrhosis of the liver.' 'But you don't drink!' 'No,' he said with a sigh. 'So it probably isn't that.' 'Well then?'  
  
He had been very brave up to this moment, but when it came to it, he found he simply didn't have the courage to tell his daughter that he very much suspected that what the doctors weren't telling him was that it was secondary malign tumours - secondary, therefore untreatable. Instead he said, 'I'm very tired after the tests. I'm going to have a lie down. I'll speak to you later.' 'But why didn't you tell me? I may have been able to help!' 'Magic, you mean,' he said and smiled. Hermione nodded. 'Your mother actually did think of that and we spoke to that nice lady teacher you were so fond of.' 'Professor McGonagall?' 'Yes, that was it. She sent along a young man with a very long beard, purple robes and a strange hat. But I'm afraid it is too late for magic, too.' 'What do you mean, too late. You said you had only been feeling unwell for a few months!' Her father sighed. 'It seems the ehhr..' he still couldn't bring himself to say the word cancer, '. the change started in the pancreas. A strange organ, that. There are no real symptoms until it spreads and, by then .' He was unable to finish, but he could see Hermione had got the point.  
  
Thoroughly unsettled, Hermione took refuge in displacement activity. After a short silence, she asked, 'Do you still get the News of the World for a laugh of a Sunday?'. Her father smiled. 'Keeps the newsagent guessing,' he said. 'And do you still have last Sunday's papers?' 'I expect they are behind that chair as usual.' He patted his daughter's arm and got up from the sofa with some effort.  
  
When he had gone, Hermione sat down at the table with the News of World and a deep sense of foreboding. It was the same stories as in the broadsheets, but the news content downplayed and the sensational angle much more prominent. In particular, the crime wave seemed to feature strongly. The front page announced a feature article on one young criminal now sought by the police for a string of violent robberies on pages 6, 7 and 8. With a pricking of her thumbs, she turned to page 6. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.  
  
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)  
  
Chapter 5  
  
The photo was not a very good one. It was in black and white and appeared to have been cut out of a group photo and enlarged, so it was very grainy. And being a muggle photo it didn't move. That was probably why Hermione didn't see it straight away. She started reading the text about the young robber, Micky Maguire, who was on the run from the police. But then her eyes fell on the photo and as soon she looked at it properly, she suddenly knew that this was what had caused both Snape and Dumbledore to behave so oddly. The young muggle in the photo was scowling. His black hair fell greasily round his face. And his black eyes exuded hate. And he was the spitting image of Snape.  
  
Numb to the heart, Hermione forced herself to read the whole article slowly. Micky Maguire was on the run after being suspected of a string of violent robberies from country houses. He had a history of petty crime and had been in and out of young offenders' institutions and prison since his early teens. The implication of the article was that he was so beyond repair that he might as well be locked up for ever. The News of the World hadn't quite gone as far as advocating the introduction of capital punishment for theft, but the phrase 'throw away the key' appeared several times. Hermione felt sick.  
  
Despite the three pages of the feature, it contained very few actual facts. After reading it, Hermione was really none the wiser as to where this young man had come from or what he had done. But what really frightened her was a passing reference to a strange hologram appearing over one of the burgled houses - like a scull said the paper. Like a scull. A death mark, more likely. Hermione wondered whether the Ministry knew about this. Dumbledore must have read that bit. Oh Gods, Voldemort was dead, but the nightmare continued!  
  
When the numbness wore off, she began to consider things logically. She needed more information. Where could she get it? Newspaper archives said a voice in her head. Newspapers keep archives of cuttings, indexed and cross- referenced. If the crimes have been reported in the past, then that will be in there. But how could she get access to newspaper archives? Did she know any journalists?  
  
Well, actually, yes, she did. Ron had recently landed a summer job on the Daily Prophet. With only a moment's bad conscience over using her friend in this way, she strode over to the fireplace and opened the small silver box she had placed there so that her parents could contact her whenever she was somewhere where the magical field was too strong for cell phones to work. 'Daily Prophet,' she said firmly. Moments later, she was speaking to a snooty receptionist, who had never heard of Ron Weasley. After a bit of insisting, she got the woman to check and was put through to the fireplace on the news desk floor. The weather beaten hack who answered the call didn't even bother to take the cigarette out of his mouth to call out Ron's name over his shoulder. But seconds later she was at last speaking to Ron. She wanted to blurt out her request straight away, but with great difficult restrained herself. Instead she asked how he was getting on. Ron was gushingly enthusiastic. 'Please come and have lunch!' he said with the flourish of a real journalist. Hermione smiled and accepted. Her father was asleep by now so she left a note to say she had had to go to London for the day and would be back that evening.  
  
The Daily Prophet, ever the defender of traditional values, was now the only newspaper still based in Fleet Street. Hermione apparated into a small lane around the corner and soon spotted the pub that Ron had mentioned. She found it dark and dingy and was relieved to see Ron waving to her from a far corner. 'Hermione! Over here!' She went over and sat down at his table. 'What do you want? I'm buying,' he said proudly on the strength of his first pay cheque. 'Oh, I'll just have a Coke,' said Hermione, mindful of the need to apparate home. Ron returned with a coke and a pint of beer. Hermione who didn't approve of drinking at lunchtime, looked disapprovingly at the pint. 'Won't you get into trouble if you drink that?' 'Oh no, everyone has a liquid lunch here. Most of the hacks won't even come in until after lunch and they'll already be half-cut by then.' Hermione made a mental note to strike journalism off her list of possible careers. As if to confirm her feelings, Ron continued, 'In the heyday of Fleet Street you wouldn't have been served here unless you were a regular - or at all if you were a woman.' Then he added, 'Mind you, they used to be open all night', as if that excused the cliquishness and misogyny.  
  
Hermione sighed and embarked on her real errand. 'Does the Daily Prophet have newspaper clippings archives?' she asked. Ron nodded with a moustache of beer foam above his mouth. 'Do they have muggle papers in the archives, too.' Ron nodded again. 'Yes, we sometimes have to cross-refer to what the muggles think.' 'I'm doing some research,' Hermione continued, safe in the knowledge that Ron was unlikely to quiz her on what her research was all about. 'Do you think I could have a look in the archives?' Ron looked a bit dubious, but finally agreed to take her back and introduce her to the librarian.  
  
As it turned out, the archives were very quiet in the summer and the librarian had no objection at all to the pretty girl browsing there for a while. He explained how the indexing system worked in rather more detail than was really necessary, leaning over Hermione's shoulder pointing out what to do. Hermione drew a sigh of relief when he finally ran out of things to explain and retreated to his desk in the corner. Quickly, she looked up Micky Maguire and struck gold. A few years back, after an earlier car theft spree, one of the local papers had carried an interview with his mother - a Mrs Maguire - complete with photo of said lady outside her front door on a Liverpool council estate. A surreptitiously whispered revealing charm gave Hermione the address in no time.  
  
Hermione rose, thanked the librarian as politely as she could manage and walked out into the hot London afternoon and disapparated to Liverpool.  
  
***  
  
Since she wasn't entirely sure where the flat was on the estate, Hermione had to apparate to a nearby alleyway. The alleyway itself as empty, if filthy, but as soon as she turned a corner she was faced with a large man dripping in gold rings and chains. He was vaguely dangling a small plastic bag in his hand and went to grab Hermione's arm. 'Where did you spring from, little lady,' he drawled. Hermione ducked and threw a mild stunning spell which caused him to pause while she dashed past him to the tower block. Mrs Maguire's flat was on the twelfth floor and the lift wasn't working, but Hermione didn't dare try an apparition, since she didn't know the layout of the building. Five minutes later, hot and flustered, she knocked on the door.  
  
The door was opened a tiny crack by a worn looking woman with a cigarette in her mouth. Hermione had her opening line ready. 'Mrs Maguire. I'm from one of the newspapers who want to do a feature on how young delinquents are never given a second chance. How they are hounded until they become full scale criminals. I believe your son has suffered from this. Can I talk to you about your son for a moment?' She felt bad about the lie, but justified it by telling herself that she really was trying to help Micky Maguire.  
  
The woman opened the door fractionally wider. 'You really want to tell it the way it was?' she asked. Hermione nodded. Something greedy came into the woman's eyes. 'Will your paper pay? The last one paid.' That had Hermione caught. She had no paper behind her paying, of course. 'How much were you thinking of?' she asked nevertheless. The woman seemed to calculate and finally said, 'I owe the loan sharks downstairs £100.' . There was a frightened expression on her face as if £100 was an outrageously large sum. Hermione quickly calculated the conversion to galleons and sickles and decided that her bank balance could probably stand it. She smiled. 'We'll pay £100 if you give an interview,' she said. 'Well don't be standing there on the doorstep then,' said the woman and let her in.  
  
Hermione took her through the dismal history of her son's descent into crime. Problems at school. Bright but unable to learn to read and write properly. (Dyslexic, Hermione thought). Then defiance and expulsions from school. Truancy when not actually expelled. Shoplifting and other crime. Young offenders' institutions. That led directly to drugs. The woman was particularly scathing about that . He had gone in a scared little boy and come out a drug addict. The need for drugs led to burglaries and street robberies. He had fought the drug habit and finally shaken it off. But by then he was well on his way to adult prison. He had come out a year ago, but he hadn't been home since his release and she hadn't seen him for nearly two years. She had been completely startled by the News of the World expose, which her neighbours had delighted in pushing through her letterbox. She really didn't know why he was doing violent robberies of country houses.  
  
'Do you have a cigarette?' she asked. Hermione shook her head and said she didn't smoke. The woman disappeared into another room and came back with a half full crumpled packet of cigarettes. She shook one out and lit it with a cheaper lighter. After she had drawn a few breaths of smoke, she continued. 'He was always such as strange boy. No one but me ever really understood him. When he got angry, windows would break and things would fly around the room. It frightened other people.' Hermione had stopped paying close attention and almost missed it. But suddenly she sat bolt upright. 'You mean, windows broke without him touching them. Things flew the air without him throwing them?' 'Yes,' said the woman surprised that someone understood. A cold shiver ran down Hermione's spine. She had been there herself. A talented wizard (or in her case witch) in a muggle school. Untutored magic wrecking havoc. Only, she had been a happy well adjusted little girl from a loving home and so hadn't thrown temper tantrums very often. She was now quite convinced that Micky Maguire was a rogue wizard. But there were even more startling revelations to come. 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

**Help! **

by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)

**Chapter 6**

Finally it seemed that Hermione was not going to get any more information from Micky's mother and she was beginning to feel slightly sick from the thick cigarette smoke. So she rose and took out her cheque book.

'I'm very happy to give you the £100. Is a cheque alright, Mrs Maguire?' she asked.

The woman looked up and hesitated for a moment. Hermione thought she was about to say that she didn't have a cheque account, but instead she leant forward and put a hand on Hermione's arm. She looked into her eyes and said, 'I like you young lady. I'm going to tell you something I've never told a living soul in 22 years, not even Micky.' She stopped for a moment to collect her thoughts. Then she said, 'It isn't _Mrs_ Maguire. There never was a Mr Maguire.'

Hermione was slightly startled, but she came from a generation where most young people live together rather than get married, at least not straight away. And children born out of wedlock is wholly unexceptional. 'Ehrr…,' she said, uncertain what she was being told.

'I was raped,' said the woman and Hermione suddenly stiffened. The full impact of the statement in combination with the physical similarity between Micky and Snape hit her like a cricket bat between the eyes. She forced herself to stay very calm.

'Would you like to tell me about it?' she said gently. 'In confidence, of course. I wouldn't dream of printing anything about it.'

Mary Maguire seemed to have forgotten that Hermione was meant to be a journalist and was momentarily slightly disoriented, but then she began her story.

'I came over here to get a job, but I really didn't know anyone. I lived in this old house – it was awful, cockroaches, outside privy. And I had this cleaning job which started after the office closed and finished at two in the morning. There were no buses at that time of night, so I had to walk home.' She stopped and thought briefly about those dark times. 'Then one night I was jumped by a group of men. Strange men dressed in black robes with silver masks. They dragged me into a disused warehouse and, and …' Again she stopped as she collected her thoughts. 'There was one – the ringleader – he didn't rape me himself, but he egged the others on. There were four others.' 

Hermione shivered.

'The first three were really eager. But the fourth was a young lad. Younger than Micky is now and he didn't want to do it. But the others goaded him until he did. I'll never forget his eyes burning into mine, full of fright. He whispered he was sorry and I think I believed him. I always thought he was the father. Micky had his eyes.'

It was almost too much to bear. Too much information. Hermione shivered again.

'Then just after that, a police car screeched to a halt outside the building, siren blaring. All five of them just disappeared. Pop! I scrabbled out the back entrance. I didn't want to talk to the police. And then I found I was pregnant. I was only 17 – I had no idea what to do. Abortion is a sin, isn't it. That was what I was taught by the priests back home anyway. And I wouldn't have had the money anyway. So I had Micky and invented Mr Maguire.'

Suddenly the woman smiled, revealing big gaps among her stained teeth.

'But it wasn't so bad. I got this flat from the council!' She proudly swept round the room with her arm. Hermione stared in disbelief at the damp, draughty room, unable to comprehend that anyone could be proud of this dump with drug dealers hanging round the bottom of the broken lift.

'Indoor bathroom!' the woman stated proudly as if this explained everything. 'And Micky – he is a good boy really. Always been kind to me.' True mother's pride.

***

Hermione was shell shocked when she got out of the flat. She disapparated straight from the landing rather than face the drug dealer, hardly caring whether anyone saw her. She had given the first address which came into her head, which was London. The address being a bit vague, the magic deposited her where it thought the centre of London might be, which turned out to be the steps of the British Museum. Relieved to be out of the smoky flat, Hermione drifted into the museum. She had been there many times and knew it well. While trying to process the information she had received, she wandered aimlessly past the beautiful Elgin marbles, bizarrely displaced from the Greek sun to this dismal rainy island. Of course, being a witch, Hermione could see what muggles missed – that even after thousands of years the horses still pranced and tossed their heads.

Mrs Maguire, Miss Maguire, whatever, Mary Maguire, had been raped 22 years ago. By a group of men who had worn black robes and masks and had subsequently disapparated. Death Eaters without a doubt. But why had they not oblivated her or killed her? When she thought about it, Hermione knew the answer to that too: they had been surprised by the muggle police. And then she hadn't told anyone what had happened so they hadn't been able to trace her.

Now Hermione had to consider the bit of the story that hurt the most. The last of them had been very young. Snape had been 20 at the time, her mind supplied helpfully. And Micky Maguire was the spitting image of Snape. Now she was beginning to understand the shock that had caused both Snape and Dumbledore to walk out on her. Add then the magic displayed by the young Micky. And – most chillingly – the death mark hovering over his burglaries. What on earth had happened? Again, her mind supplied the answer. Malfoy. It had to be. Voldemort was dead, but Malfoy had escaped justice and was still out there. And now he had somehow got his claws into Snape's son. There was really no other explanation.

Hermione emerged into the late summer afternoon sunshine. After the cool shadow of the museum, she was slightly dazed and so she didn't react immediately tohe familiar figure in a black coat walking down the street. Then her brain caught up.

'Severus!' she shouted.

The man turned round and for a moment their eyes met. Then he began to run in the direction of Tottenham Court Road. She ran after him, but got caught in the crowds of tired tourists. She glimpsed him twice ahead of her but by the time she reached Oxford Street, he was long gone in the crowd.

***

Snape's heart constricted in a sudden cramp when he saw her. Hermione! He had hardly given her a thought since he had walked out of the house four days ago. What on earth had she thought? Probably that it confirmed all her earlier suspicions that he was a deeply rude and unpleasant man. He muttered, '"Nevermore," quoth the Raven', causing a group of Japanese tourists to turn round in surprise, and let that thought twist in his breast for a while. What was she doing here? It had obviously been a mistake for him to browse around the bookshops of Bloomsbury. Served him right. He was only trying to put off the inevitable anyway. He should be getting on with the task in hand: finding Malfoy.

For Snape had no doubt now that Malfoy  was at the bottom of this. He now understood that strange threat uttered at the last Death Eaters meeting -  'your own flesh and blood' indeed. This was a race against time and he had to find Malfoy. He didn't dare to apparate in case that drew unwanted attention. So he sighed and consulted his muggle A to Z. Malfoy had two residences in the London area – a flat in Sloane Square and a house in Virginia Waters. Sloane Square seemed to be on the tube. With another sigh, he set off for the nearest tube station.****


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

**Help! **

by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)

**Chapter 7**

Hermione arrived back at her parents' house feeling as if she had been through an emotional wringer. And she knew that she had yet another challenge to face. Her father met her at the door, his pale blue eyes watery with pain and love. He hugged her tight and told her how proud he was of her and how much he loved her. It was so heart rending that she didn't know how she coped. Then her mother bustled in and intervened. Hermione sat down to dinner but it was clear that her father was unable to eat anything.

'I'm feeling so bloated,' he complained. His wife tried to suggest things he might eat, but in her anxiousness to feed him, they were all far too substantial. Finally he said, 'Can I just have some toast, please.' Hermione's mother started to object, but Hermione had a sudden brainwave. 'Can I do you toast with honey?' she said. Her father nodded. Afterwards she was to remember that toast with honey which he at with such relish as the last meal she ever saw him eat with pleasure.

However, there is only so much emotion that a human being can stand. Martin Granger went to bed early and his daughter just couldn't deal an evening of her mother failing to face facts. The final straw was when she asked what Hermione thought of a holiday cottage she was trying to book in France for late August. Hermione wanted to shout at her, 'He won't be alive by late August or at least not well enough to travel!' but she knew that this was her mother's way of coping so bit her tongue. But she also announced that she was going to bed.

***

In the darkness of her bedroom she tried to make sense of the day she had just lived through. Her father. The fixed point in her life. She loved her mother – she wasn't an unintelligent woman, she was a dentist after all, but she still had something of the dumb blonde over her. A beautiful butterfly. But her father – her father understood her. When her mother had flustered at the Hogwarts owl, her father had _understood_, really understood. Probably known on an intuitive level long before that the powers his daughter had were magical. He had probably disapproved, she supposed, but he had known that the magical world was right for his daughter and had never questioned her judgement. Then she cried.

After a long time of thinking of her father, she finally cast her mind to that other cataclysm of the day – Mary Maguire and Micky. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder how the board of Hogwarts had known that she had magical ability and sent her the owl. But not sent one to Micky. Or had they? She needed to speak to Mary again. But first she needed to get some facts straight.

Finally she thought of Snape. In some ways that was the most difficult topic of all. The rejection hurt, really hurt. Whatever else he had thought when he saw the picture of Micky Maguire and read about the Death Mark, he clearly hadn't thought it was something he could share with Hermione. Her heart clenched. She wanted so much for him to trust her, but maybe it was never to be. 

It was very late when she finally fell asleep.

***

When she woke the next day, her mother had already gone to work. Her father was sitting in the living room trying to read the paper but looking very uncomfortable. When Hermione asked whether her mother shouldn't be home with him, he smiled at her.

'She is keeping the practice afloat together with Peter. Let her get on with that  and keep her mind off me. Peter is a brick!'

Peter was Hermione's cousin who had followed in the family tradition and qualified as a dentist. A year ago, when her parents had finally realised that whatever Hermione did with her life, dentistry was not going to figure in it, they had made Peter a full partner. Hermione had felt a weight lifted from her shoulders and had been delighted. She was even more relieved now.

'Do you want me to stay or is it alright if I go out for the day?' she asked.

Her father smiled. 'You go. I'll just rest here. I'm not much company, I keep falling asleep,' he said. 

Hermione was deeply troubled, but at the same time she was desperate to get more information about Micky and Snape, so she decided to go.

****

'Ron,' said Hermione into the fire. 'Do you know how Hogwarts identify muggle born wizards?'

Ron stared at her. 'I've never thought about it,' he said.

That didn't surprise her – there weren't really that many things that Ron had thought deeply about beyond quidditch. But she was surprised that she had never thought of it herself.

'Ask my dad,' said Ron.

'What?'

'My dad – he would know.'

Oh, of course, Ron was right - Arthur Weasley would know.

'He's at home helping mum today.'

'Thanks!'

Hermione decided this wasn't really the sort of topic to discuss through a fireplace, so she apparated to the Burrows. Mrs Weasley greeted her with delight, only slightly tempered when Hermione explained that she wanted to ask Mr Weasley a question related to 'her research'. Arthur Weasley came in from the garden. 'What do you want to know?' he asked presently.

'How are muggle born wizards identified? How do Hogwarts know who to send owls to?'

Hermione noticed that Arthur Weasley looked slightly uncomfortable at this question and his first answer seemed to be evading the question slightly.

'Well, there are some like Harry which we know about and keep an eye on the whole time.'

'Harry is not muggle born,' objected Hermione. 'I mean real muggle born wizards and witches, like me.'

'Well …' Arthur Weasley was still prevaricating slightly. 'The Ministry usually gets reports of magical activity. And then we follow them up.'

'Are those reports reliable?'

'Usually.'

'And if someone doesn't reply to the letter.'

Arthur Weasley looked even more uncomfortable. 'Well, we can't force anyone to go to Hogwarts.'

'So you'd just leave it?'

'That depends. If it was Harry Potter …'

'If it wasn't Harry Potter. If it was just some kid on a Liverpool sink estate.'

Arthur Weasley shrugged unhappily. 'Then we'd probably just leave it.'

***

Hermione put on her best smile for the librarian at the Daily Prophet and was let in to do some 'further research' . Quickly she did two things. First she looked up Lucius Malfoy. There was surprisingly little information about him – and in particular hardly any information about where he lived – but eventually she found a report in Witch Weekly where 'Lucius Malfoy and his charming wife Narcissa' had thrown open their palatial country house in Gloucestershire to the reporters and photographers. There was enough information there for her revealing charm to give her an address.

Then she went back to the records of the first Death Eaters trials and purloined whatever photographs of Death Eaters she could lay her hands on, including one of Snape. She felt her heart tighten when she saw the morose young man. But suppressing the feeling she slipped the photos into her handbag, smiled at the librarian again and left.

***

This time Hermione was able to apparate in the corridor of the tower block and avoid running the gauntlet of drug dealers. She knocked on Mary Maguire's door. There was no reply for such a long time that she had made her mind up that the flat was empty, when she eventually heard a shuffling sound. 

'Who's there?' said an unsteady voice.

'It's me, Hermione Granger. You spoke to me yesterday.'

'Oh. It's you.' The door opened a crack. Mary Maguire was definitely less friendly today. Hermione smelt gin on her breath. She had a sudden insight that the £100 had not gone straight to the loan shark. Sighing slightly at the state of her bank balance, she said, 'I might be able to pay you some more money, if you would answer some more questions.'

'Another £100?'

Oh what the hell – this was Snape's future she was talking about here – her and Snape's future.

'Yes, another £100.'

Mary Maguire opened the door.

'Can you remember, when Micky was about 11 whether you received any strange letters?'

The woman looked at her in bleary eyed confusion and lit a cigarette. A more expensive brand than yesterday, Hermione noticed.

'What sort of strange?'

'Strange looking. Like an official document. Maybe delivered in a strange way.'

The woman considered this for a long while and then she threw back her head an laughed. 

'I've had official looking letters all my life. Writs and what-have-you. Bailiffs. The lot. I always throw them in the bin.'

Well, that explained that anyway.

Hermione drew a deep breath. This was the really difficult bit.

'Would you look at some photos for me?'

'What sort of photos?'

'Of some people who might have been among the ones who raped you.'

Mary Maguire was silent for a long while. 'I'm not sure I'd remember,' she said at last. 'It was 22 years ago.'

'Please just look at them and then I'll give you your cheque and go.'

The woman opposite nodded. £100 was a lot of money to her.

The first few photos were unlikely outsiders and Mary Maguire shook her head at them. If she was surprised that the photos moved, she didn't show it. Then Hermione produced Lucius Malfoy. Mary startled and drew back shivering.

'Him!' she said. 'He was the ring leader I told you about. The one who egged the others on.'

Hermione continued showing photos. No reaction. And then the final one – Snape in his early twenties. Mary's eyes almost popped out their sockets as she nodded silently. Quietly Hermione pulled out the press photo of Micky from the News of the World and laid it next to the photo of Snape. Mary turned to her, tears in her eyes. 

'I was right, wasn't I. He was the father.'

'I think so, yes.'

'Do you know who he is.'

'Yes.'

'Do you know where he is?'

'No.'

'Will you find him?'

'I hope so. I really do hope so.'


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

**Help! **

by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)

**Chapter 8**

Hermione decided that a visit of Malfoy's manor was best left until after dark. She didn't want to worry her parents, so she let them go to bed and then she crept out of the house quietly and apparated to the address gleaned from Witch Weekly. She was careful to make sure that she landed well outside the grounds as she was expecting some pretty heavy wards. Wand drawn, she crept round the outer perimeter of the park that surrounded the large house. And then she discovered something strange: sure, there were wards, but it seemed that some very subtle charm had been laid over them to weaken their effect. And when she reached a place at the back of the park where there was a breach in the wall, she discovered a rending in the wards leaving them down altogether. Carefully she slipped through the hole.

She approached the house stealthily and crept along the wall. When she reached the terrace, she discovered a french window standing open a crack. Behind it there was a gap between the heavy brocade curtains, which allowed her a partial view of an opulent drawing room. At first she thought the room was empty, but then she spotted Snape crouching behind a sofa. He had his back to her and so couldn't see her, but he was obviously watching the room. Hermione felt a tightening of the muscles of her heart. He looked so lonely and she wanted more than anything to go to him, but he was clearly intent on stealth and there was no way she would blow his cover. So she also crouched down and peered round the curtains from the cover of the darkness of the night outside.

Nothing happened for a little while. Then a door opened and a young man entered with a cut glass decanter in his hand. Micky Maguire – Hermione recognised him instantly from the picture. He strode up to a sideboard, pulled out a glass, and added some ice from a silver ice bucket. Then he poured a large slug from the amber liquid in the decanter, which looked very much as if it might be a fine single malt whisky.

He was just about to take a first mouthful, when Snape stood up behind him and said in that silken voice which commanded so much respect at Hogwarts, 'Micky Maguire!'.

The young man jumped, dropped the glass and spun around.

'Who are you?'

'It doesn't matter who I am – I am someone who has come to help you,' said Snape, although Hermione felt that the menace in his voice rather belied his words.

'I don't need any help. I'm _perfectly_ all right,' said Micky with a self-satisfied grin.

'I beg to disagree,' said Snape.

The two stared at each other for several long moments. Micky broke first and looked away. Snape knew then that he had a chance of winning this.

'Lucius Malfoy is not doing you any good, you know that in your heart, don't you.'

'You don't understand,' railed Micky. 'I've always known that I was someone special – that I had powers. But no one ever _understood. They just tried to restrain me – stop me from achieving what I could. But Mr Malfoy, he understands. He knows what my powers are. he is teaching me to use them properly.'_

'To burgle and create mayhem on his behalf?'

Micky looked away briefly, then rallied. 'I won't have a word said against him. He is a proper gentleman. He has treated me with a respect that no one else has ever shown!'

'So that you can do his dirty work for him?'

'Who are you to tell me what to do with my life anyway?'

'I'm your father.'

A moment of complete silence followed this statement. Micky and Snape stared at each other and then Micky snarled, but Hermione who could see his face could also see the dawning realisation that Snape had spoken the truth. 

So intent were the two men on each other that they didn't notice the door which opened quietly behind them. But Hermione caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Then everything seemed to happen in a blur. Malfoy burst into the room wand at the ready. Hermione stood up and shouted 'Stupefy' at the top of her voice. Her curse almost missed Malfoy, but a corner of it caught his wand arm, causing it to flop uselessly down to his side. Malfoy grabbed the falling wand with his other hand, pointed it at Hermione and shouted 'Avada Kedavra!'. But Snape was quicker. He also cast the killing curse and his was the one which hit its mark. Malfoy crumpled into a heap on the floor.

For a moment, the three remaining people in the room simply stared at each other. Then Snape shouted, 'Move! The aurors will be here in minutes! Hermione, take Micky and run!' Half of her wanted to stay and help him, but his voice carried such authority she simply couldn't disobey. She grabbed Micky's arm and they ran – literally at first. After a little while they reached a village and Micky hotwired a car and drove off at speed. Hermione was too befuddled even to ask him where he was going. He just drove and drove through the night. Twice they stopped to dump the stolen car and steal  another. Finally, they reached a motorway and mesmerised by the yellow lights, Hermione fell into a light and troubled slumber.

She awoke at dawn to find they were still driving along the motorway. 

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'Away,' said Micky and she suddenly realised how shocked and drawn he looked. They both badly needed to calm down and she was also beginning to feel very hungry. At that moment she spotted the signs for a motorway service station. 

'Pull in here and we'll have some breakfast, ' she said. Micky said nothing in reply and at first she wasn't sure whether he had heard her, but at the last moment he pulled into the slip road. 

The cafeteria was almost empty in the early morning and they both piled trays high with food, all of it costing a fortune. Micky pulled out his pockets to show he had no money. Hermione was fervently grateful that her parents had insisted that she always carry a muggle credit card 'for emergencies'. If this wasn't an emergency, she didn't know what was.

They sat down at a table. Micky looked at her appraisingly. 

'Who are you?' he said finally.

'A friend of Snape's,' she answered hoping this was still true.

'And who is Snape?'

She had forgotten he didn't know. 'Your father,' she said simply.

Micky shook his head a bit as if to clear it. 'If he really is my father – if he also knows about this … ehr … magic, where has he been all my life?'

'It is my belief, ' said Hermione slowly, thinking this through for the first time as she went along, 'that he didn't know of your existence until a few days ago.'

'But how is that possible?'

'I think that is a story for your mother to tell,' said Hermione.

'Tell me, do you believe in magic?'

'Oh, yes. I know all about magic. There is no doubt that you have a powerful talent and would make a very good wizard. But Snape is right, Malfoy was no good. He was an evil, evil man who was using you.'

'But what will become of me now? Will anyone else be prepared to help me? I'm not going back to Liverpool. Or to prison for that matter. I'd rather die!'

Hermione didn't know what to say. In truth she didn't know what Snape's plans were for Micky. She didn't even know whether Snape would be alive when the aurors had finished with him. She opened her mouth to try to utter some reassuring platitudes, but at that moment her cell phone rang and changed her life forever.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

**Help! **

by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)

**Chapter 9**

Hermione fished the phone out of her pocket with the great trepidation. Not many people had her mobile number and she couldn't understand why any of them would be phoning her at six o'clock in the morning. The display showed her parents' number which did nothing to allay her fears.

'Hermione!' shouted her mother. 'Where are you? Your father is so much worse! I'm taking him to the hospital straight away. I went to wake you, but you weren't there!'

'I'm not far away mum – just out for a walk. I'll be home in a moment!'

She switched off the phone and turned to Micky. His problem suddenly seemed of no importance to her.

'I've got to go. You heard what Snape said. Run for your life. Don't go near Snape or any of Malfoy's properties.'

Micky looked at her but said nothing and she walked out.

Thank god for being able to apparate. Wherever it was they had been, she was home in a matter of minutes. Her mother was frantic when Hermione walked in and she could see for herself how much worse her father was. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur of hospital waiting rooms. Hermione's father was sent for test after test before he was finally allowed to collapse into a hospital bed. The nurse shooed Hermione and her mother out, saying that she was going to give him an injection against the pain. When they were allowed to return, he was so out of it he couldn't speak to them. Suspiciously, Hermione asked the nurse what he had been given and was told it was morphine. While her mother bustled off in search of something, Hermione started to argue that morphine was dangerous and addictive, when she realised that the nurse was looking at her with silent sympathy. It was at that moment that Hermione really understood that there was no hope – it didn't matter one iota whether the morphine was addictive because her father wasn't going to live. She sat silently by his bed as he slept and cried. But she had to pull herself together when her mother returned and drive them both home.

Hermione found it very difficult to listen to her mother's bright and brittle chatter about the treatment that the doctor had told her they would try. She kept saying, 'When daddy comes home …'. Hermione wanted to shout at her, _he is not coming home! But she was very fond of her mother, too, and she knew that this was just her way of coping, so she kept her mouth tight shut._

Over the next few days they spent more time at the hospital than Hermione had spent in her entire previous year. Her father would have bright periods when he would chat, but then pain would overwhelm him. The nurses seemed happy to give him morphine on demand and after each injection he would become incoherent and then fall asleep.

On the fourth day, he asked to see Hermione's mother on her own and had a long talk with her. She emerged crying and wouldn't at first say what they had talked about. Finally she admitted that he had told her where to find his will and details of his life insurance, and given her instructions for his funeral.

Hermione got no chance to talk to him that day, but the next day it was her turn for a talk on her own with him. She came into the room and he looked pale and drawn but he had not had any morphine and was perfectly lucid.

'My poor girl,' he said and stroked her cheek. She smiled bravely but felt the tears pricking.

'I want to tell you about something that it is very difficult for me to talk about,' he said. She wondered what he meant. With difficulty he pulled himself upright.

'I don't want to tell you this to hurt you, but because I think you will one day begin to wonder about it yourself. And if I'm gone you'll always wonder what I thought about it. So I want you to know.'

What on earth was he going to tell her?

'Hermione, I'm a medically trained man,' he continued. 'And I do know something about genetics. And I know that two blue-eyed people cannot have a brown-eyed child.'

Hermione stared at him, but the moment he said it she knew he was right. That she knew it too and that somewhere deep in her mind she had long ago logged the fact that she was brown-eyed and they were both blue-eyed.

'I have never spoken to your mother about this,' continued her father. 'It is my belief that she knows it too, but has simply chosen not to acknowledge the fact.'

'What …' began Hermione, but her father held up his hand.

'I want to tell you what I think,' he said with emphasis. 'I do NOT think your mother cheated on me. She simply hasn't got it in her to do that. I have thought long and hard about it and I have decided…' he paused for a moment to underline what he was saying, '… that there was a mixed up at the hospital.' He said it with a finality that made clear that there would be no argument about this. Then his face dissolved in a loving smile and he stroked her cheek. 'But it really doesn't matter to me. To me you'll always be my girl.' Hermione hugged him then, tears streaming down her cheeks.

***

Less than ten days later, Hermione's father died in the night. She and her mother arrived at the hospital to be told the news. Hermione's mother was bereft. She kept saying, 'I should have been there for him.' Hermione felt quietly felt that it was better that he had died in his sleep but didn't say so. 

The funeral was the most painful thing that Hermione had ever gone through. She felt so lonely. After the funeral, the doctor came round and gave her mother a sedative. Hermione sat in the window and looked out on the lovely summer's day and thought about her father.

She loved her mother, of course, but she had always felt that her father was the one who really, really understood her. He had always been so proud of her, of her achievements at school and everything she did. In her heart of hearts she suspected he had disapproved of her magical abilities, but he had understood that it was part of her and had supported her very step of the way. Her mother, dear though she was, would never, ever understand her like that. 

***

Hermione's aunt Mathilda had come to stay and after a week or so she managed to convince Hermione's mother to come away with her. Peter was holding things together at the practice. Their lawyer was an old family friend who was dealing with the will and all such like, and in any case Martin Granger had spent the last few weeks at home putting his always tidy affairs in complete order. There was really nothing that required her presence in Reading. Aunt Mathilda invited Hermione to come, too, but she was beginning to feel as if she was suffocating. It seemed harsh with her father only a few days dead, but she just _had _to do something to take her mind off it or she would go mad. An endless rehash of her father's life and incipient canonization of his every deed was beginning to grate on her nerves however much she had loved him. So she said she would stay in Reading to be close to Oxford where she would be doing her studies. But the truth was that for the first time since her phone rang in that motorway service station, she had begun to worry about Snape and Micky.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

**Help! **

by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)

**Chapter 10**

Hermione's first thought was to go to Snape's house, but he was not there and Piggy swore blind she hadn't seen him since the day he walked out on the Sunday papers.  Hermione wondered where Micky would have gone. He had said he was never going back to Liverpool, but she still thought Mrs Maguire might know something. So once again she apparated to the drab tower block. 

It was with the greatest sense of foreboding that she knocked on the door to the flat. Which just goes to show that premonition is a fallible thing even for a witch. For the door was opened by Mrs Maguire smiling broadly. 

'Miss Granger,' she exclaimed. 'Come in! Come in! You'll find us all at sixes and sevens, packing. Micky, it is the young journalist I told you about!' – this last shouted into the flat.

'Packing?'

'Yes, we're going … where are we going again?' This was addressed to Micky who emerged from one of the inner rooms to see who had arrived.

'Brazil, mum.'

'Brazil where the nuts come from! That's it!'

'Ehhr …why …' Hermione was for once lost for words.

'Well, when Micky came home and the strange gentleman appeared and told him about this school or college or whatever…'

'What strange gentleman?'

'I think she means me,' came a voice from the inner room. And in the doorway appeared …Dumbledore.

Hermione was now completely dumbstruck. He turned to Micky and said, 'Well, I think I've almost finished here. When you have packed you know what to do. Both grab the soda bottle at the same time …'

'Yes, yes,' said Micky, but kindly. 'You've been over this a hundred times.'

'Well then, perhaps I may leave. I would like to have a word with this young _journalist.' He took Hermione by the arm and led her out of the flat. Then he said quite firmly, 'We need to talk. Will you apparate to the gates of Hogwarts with me?'_

Hermione nodded.

A few minutes later they were walking up the path to the Hogwarts main entrance.

'I'm really sorry I lied to her, ' said Hermione, 'but I was only trying to do the best I could for Severus – and Micky.'

Dumbledore looked a lot less stern now that he had heard the whole story. 

'Why are they going to Brazil?' she asked with curiosity.

'There is a school for late developing wizards there that will take adult students.'

'Oh, so he will get to be a wizard after all.'

'Yes he will.'

'And was he invited to Hogwarts when he was eleven?'

'Yes, he was. We had had reports of his magical abilities, but we didn't know of his parentage, of course.'

'But his mother didn't reply to the letter.'

'No.'

'So it wasn't followed up.'

'No.' Dumbledore had the grace to look uncomfortable at that.

They walked on in silence for  a few minutes. Then Hermione said, 'Can I ask you something?'

'Yes, of course, my dear.'

'Magical abilities are hereditary, are they not?'

'So it would appear, but there are squibs of course.'

'I'm not really concerned about squibs, but how much is known about why there are occasional muggle-born wizards and witches.'

'I was wondering how long it would take you to get round to that.'

'Well?'

'Not a lot is known.'

'But why – you would have thought it would be an obvious area for research.'

'Not necessarily.' Dumbledore looked uncomfortable.

'So there is no known mechanism by which magical abilities can suddenly appear without a magical parentage.'

'No.'

'But then …'

'Hermione, there is no _known _mechanism, but as I have just told you no research has been done on it.'

'But it still seems to me …'

'Hermione, without research you can't know …'

'But with modern genetic tests it is easy to establish paternity.'

'Yes, but would you want to?'

Hermione fell silent for a moment. Then she said, 'Yes, of course. I want to know whether are gene mutations that cause magical abilities in some muggle-borns.'

'And if you found out there were no such gene mutations?'

'But that is horrific. That would mean that all muggle-born wizards or witches were the result of rape. That is unthinkable. Why isn't there a most enormous scandal about this?'

'Hermione,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'There have _always_ been muggle-born wizards and witches. It is possible that there are gene mutations as you say, or it is possible that they are and always have been the result of rape – or seduction as it used perhaps to be called.  There is no scandal because it has always gone on it the best wizarding families and they don't want to wash their dirty linen in public.'

'But don't the muggle women cry foul?'

'You forget the power wizards have to oblivate. What happened to Mrs Maguire was most unusual – occasioned I believe by the intervention of the muggle police.'

'But surely this can't be allowed to go on.'

'You have to bear in mind what a Pandora's box of heart ache you would open up if you forced people to face up to this. What is it you young people say? "Don't go there!"'

'Yes, but if this is all swept under the carpet, it just gives young wizards the right to rape away as they please.'

'Perhaps, but I do try my best at Hogwarts to inculcate young wizards with ideals of honour and justice and equality of the sexes which will put an end to this sort of thing.'

Hermione couldn't fault him on that, but she still wasn't convinced.

'But if people don't know their ancestry, they might unwittingly marry their half-brother or something.' 

Suddenly Hermione went pale as an appalling thought swept into her mind. Dumbledore saw her stumble and decided that perhaps it was time to break a confidence in the interest of the a greater good.

'I have it on good authority, ' he said choosing his words carefully, 'that some young Death Eaters were so appalled by their first experience of rape that they refused ever to have anything to do with it again.'

'Did he tell you that?' almost whispered Hermione. Abandoning any attempt at anonymising the information, Dumbledore nodded. Hermione gave a long sigh of relief.

'Nevertheless, you can see where this might lead,' she said.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed, and that is why, in the muggle world, I believe adopted children have the right to certain information about their biological parents. But I still think that in this case it would do more harm than good.'

Hermione thought about this for a while. Then she said, 'But I still want to know who my father is.'

'Your father is the man you buried a few days ago. Who brought you up and loved you.'

'Don't split hairs. You know what I mean. My biological father.'

'No doubt with modern DNA tests you could find out. But would it really do you any good or would you just want to murder him, landing yourself in Azkaban?'

'I wonder what Severus would think of this. I don't think he was too impressed by the treatment his son had received and the fact that he didn't even know he had a son.'

'I'm sure you're right. He is paying for Micky's education in Brazil, you know.'

'Is he? I thought … I thought … I don't know what I thought, but I thought you had somehow organised it?'

'Me? I was merely helping Severus. I'm not a wealthy man. Nor is he, really, but this is what he has chosen to spend his money on.'

Severus! Hermione was gripped by a deep sense of guilt. The truth was that she had hardly thought about him since that phone call. Now his face swam into her mind and she realised how much he actually meant to her.

'What happened to Severus when the aurors came?'

'He was lucky. Very lucky,' said Dumbledore dryly. 'Apparently they were already closing in on Lucius Malfoy's operation. Severus claimed self-defence and he was supported of course by the fact that the aurors were able to establish that the last curse cast by Malfoy's wand was Avada Kedavra. So they accepted his explanation and let him go.'

Hermione drew a sigh of relief.

'But why don't you ask him to tell you about it himself?'

'Where is he?'

'He's here.'

It seemed obvious as soon as Dumbledore said it, but it actually hadn't occurred to Hermione that Snape might have returned to Hogwarts.

'Would he see me, do you think.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'He hasn't seen anyone except me since he returned, but if he'll see anyone, it would be you, I should think.'

***

Snape recognised Hermione's characteristic double knock on the door. For a moment he froze and wondered whether there was any point pretending he wasn't there. But he knew there was no point. _If I don't look at her, I won't have to see the rejection in her eyes_, he thought. So he walked over to the window and turned his back to the door before he called, 'Come in!'

The door opened and Hermione entered silently. Snape waited for her to say something, shout something, throw something, hex him, whatever. But the silence lengthened and at last he said, 'I heard about your father. I'm sorry.'

When Hermione said nothing in reply, he finally said, 'Thank you for coming to say goodbye in person. Very Gryffindor! It really wasn't necessary and I don't deserve it.'

He heard the door close and assumed she had gone – and got the fright of his life when he turned around and found her still standing there.

'I didn't come to say goodbye,' she said gently. 'I came to apologise.'

Snape had run through countless scenarios for this meeting in his mind, but it had simply never occurred to him that she might still want him after all that happened.

'Apologise? What for?'

'For not being there for you when you needed me.'

'You have no obligation towards me.'

'I know, but I should have been there to help you.'

Snape sighed. He just had to try to explain what he felt. 'This whole episode has brought to my full attention all the reasons why you should have nothing to do with me.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'I'm a former Death Eater – you know what I did to that poor woman, Micky's mother.'

'I know what you have just done for her and Micky, too. And I know what she said about the rape. That you whispered that you were sorry.'

Snape sank into his chair and buried his head in his hands.

'That is true. And Hermione, I promise, I never had anything to do with rapes after that. But it hardly excuses what I did.'

'She has forgiven you. And so has Micky. So why can't you forgive yourself? It was a very long time ago.'

Quietly she walked over to him and put her arms around him. He turned into her embrace and sniffed slightly which could have been a stifled sob.

'I must have been at the staff meeting where Micky's name was read out as one of those who hadn't answered the invitation to Hogwarts. And I must have sat there and scowled and thought what did it matter, it was only another muggle.'

Hermione stroked his hair gently until he calmed. 

'I never thought you'd want me when you knew,' he said at length.

'I want you,' Hermione replied. 'But I'm feeling rather fragile after my father's death. I need of some help and support to get through it. I don't know whether …' She knew that what she was going to say would sound rude, but it needed to be said. 'I don't know whether you care enough for me to want to be around when things get tough.'

'Please don't doubt my commitment to you, Hermione,' he replied. 'I'll give you whatever help and support you need, but can I ask something in return? Will you help and support me when I embark on a new career outside Hogwarts?'

'Deal!' said Hermione.

***

_When I was younger, so much younger than today,_

_I never needed anybody's help in any way,_

_but now these days are gone I'm not so self assured,_

_now I find I've changed my mind I've opened up the doors._

_Help me if you can, I'm feeling down,_

_and I do appreciate you being around_

_help me get my feet back on the ground,_

_won't you please please help me?_


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

**Help! **

by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)

**Chapter 11: Epilogue**

Severus had been very quiet the whole way home. Hermione looked at him with concern – perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to take him to see this the latest in a series of muggle films about the events at Hogwarts. It was hardly as if the portrayal of him had been particularly flattering. But as they rounded the corner of the drive and the house came into view, he said in perfectly normal voice, 'All looks quiet, I'd say.' Hermione didn't comment  but hoped he was right. 

As soon as they were inside the door, Severus was up the stairs to make sure the apples of his eye, Martin and Hadrian, named after their grandfathers, were alright. Hermione looked around and saw signs of hastily cleared up chaos.

'When did they fall asleep?' she asked Micky who emerged from the drawing room.

'About five minutes ago,' admitted the young wizard. 'Is it always like this?' he asked with a grimace. 

'Like what?' said Hermione innocently.

'Havoc!'

'You mean – is having two year old twins hard work?'

'Yes.'

'Well what did you think?'

Micky pulled a face that was half frown, half smile. Hermione was in on a secret, which they hadn't told Severus yet – Micky's girl friend was pregnant and he had offered to babysit to get some practice.

'It was fun, though,' he conceded. Hermione smiled complacently.

Severus now reappeared, reassured that his darlings were still alive. He shook hands in that formal way in which he always still treated his firstborn. Hermione sighed slightly. She wished he would lighten up and show some of the undoubted affection he had for Micky. But Micky was used to it and didn't seem to mind. He left rather quickly – desperate to put his head down on a pillow, Hermione suspected.

Severus poured himself a drink and Hermione came up behind him. 

'Were you upset by the film?' she asked. He turned round and looked at her.

'Not upset, but it made we wonder what on earth you ever saw in me in the first place. It wasn't as if I was particularly pleasant person, was it?'

Tenderly, Hermione slipped her arms around him and smiled.

'Love is a mystery well beyond magic as we know it, ' she said and kissed him deeply.

THE END

A/N: Well, that's the end. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing as we went along!


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